old memories

On Saturday morning, after Meshach failed to show interest in his second meal in a row, I called Bill. He didn't answer. I left something of an anxious message, letting him know that Meshach had taken a turn for the worse and that there was a possibility that he might have to be put to sleep.

I left a text message for him again when I returned home from the animal hospital. It said: "Meshach went to kitty heaven about 45 minutes ago."

About an hour or so later, Bill called. He apologized that his phone had run out of juice and that he had just received my messages after recharging his device.

Bill has not been an integral part of my life for many years now. He's now married with an adored wife and two adored doggies. But it was so important for me to reach out to him, talk to him. He had shared six years of my and Meshach's life together. He loved Meshach dearly, putting up with the cat's crankiness and loving him like a furry son.

Bill used to cradle Meshach like a baby, mostly because it irked Meshach so much that it was hilarious. Meshach would wail in Bill's arms, until he settled into his cradle and gave into its affection. Meshach thought that Bill was a pillow (much like he thought I was a pillow). Meshach favored Bill's back and favored my chest. I guess he thought the two soft mounds were for his benefit, and on some days, I'd put up with having a 14-pound furrball curled up on my chest, even though it was hard to breathe.

Bill and I spent about 20 minutes on the phone, bringing up old memories of the cranky old cat. Some of the memories were sad, like how he terrorized Booties during her short life. Most were funny.

For several months in 1997, Bill and I lived in a third-story condo in Bradenton. It was a unit that was rented to us by an old couple who no longer lived there. We had redone the wallpaper and countertops in the kitchen and the bathrooms, replacing the flashy 70s wallpaper that had been there most likely since it was built.

This condo had a wide balcony that stretched across the entire unit. The balcony overlooked a small canal which at times had manatees pass through. Since it was the top floor, and since it was Bradenton, we often left the balcony doors open allowing for the salty warm sea breeze to come through.

One day after I came home from classes, I found a present placed carefully and thoughtfully at the foot of our bed. It was a dead bird. I didn't know what to do about this, so I picked it up and threw it over the balcony to the canal below. Bill remembered how smug Meshach had acted for the next few days, as if he had conquered an entire nation with the swift swipe of his paw.

This was a particularly funny memory because despite Meshach's attitude that he was the king of the world, he was quite a scaredy cat. He'd always try to escape the apartment, but the few times he succeeded, he'd freeze right outside the door. His ears would fall back and he'd crouch in a scared position until one of us swooped him back up into the safe confines of his royal domain. Once back inside, he'd straighten up and begin walking around stately once again.

Bill also reminded me of the time we lived in a small apartment, also in Bradenton. This unit too had a sun balcony, surrounded by screen on all sides. But it was on the first floor and on occasion, other kitties roaming around outdoors would come by. One particular cat would visit periodically and whenever it did, Meshach would pace back and forth furiously, letting out the most pathetic wails. Bill, all six feet and nearly two hundred pounds of him, said that these were the only times he was afraid of the 14-lb feline. Meshach was not at all fond of strange kitties infringing on his territory.

After Booties died, we didn't get another cat for awhile. Two years later, while we were living in Georgia, Bill got me Annabelle for a birthday present. We selected her carefully, partly because she too was declawed in her front paws. But we did ask the animal shelter what their policy was on returning cats just in case Meshach decided not to accept her. They said they didn't really take cats back, but they'd consider it in our case.

It took a day or so, but Meshach took very fondly to Annabelle. For one, Annabelle didn't take any shit. For the first time, Meshach had a contender - and for that, he respected her. She'd go right up to him and start jabbing at his face with her right paw. Then they'd rough-and-tumble a bit until one of them, usually Meshach, gave in. I knew we made a good choice with her once we saw that he liked her. He'd give her baths; he'd hang out with her; he'd sleep next to her.

Those 20 minutes on the phone with Bill meant the world to me. More than anyone else, he was the person with whom I could share my loss because I knew he felt it too. He wondered aloud what he could do to memorialize Meshach from afar. Just knowing that there is someone else out there who could appreciate how much I loved, and how much I would miss, Meshach makes me feel a little less lonely.

Annabelle, in her right, has been extremely needy/affectionate with me over the past couple days. She has shared her life and space with Meshach almost all her life, and I'm sure she's experiencing a sense of loss too - however cats experience these things.

She took over his place in my bed. Last night, for the first time ever, she slept by my head - just as Meshach had done for the past fifteen years.

I've been fortunate to spend a lot of quality time with her over the past few days. This week is the first week I'm down to a part-time schedule, so this first Monday off meant that I didn't have to leave her alone for most of the day. Tomorrow will be different. I will be out all day and evening; I'm worried how she will react to being left completely alone for the first time in ten years.

I hope this quality time we spent together recently has helped her cope; it has certainly helped me.